


The Revolution Lives

by likeplutoandpersephone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Arya Stark-centric, Arya and Sansa's complicated relationship, Arya volunteers for Sansa, F/M, Gen, Stark family feels, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeplutoandpersephone/pseuds/likeplutoandpersephone
Summary: The male tribute was selected first. A big, eighteen year old boy named Gendry, he took his place on the stage stoically. Arya knew him vaguely. It was said he was Robert Baratheon’s secret son, and while no one had ever said anything to her, Arya knew her father sent him money every month. Despite the cold weather, Gendry’s arms were bare, showing off his rippling muscles. If the boy was afraid, there was no sign of it on his face, if anything he seemed almost bored. Arya already knew he would be a favorite with the oddsmakers.Next, the female tribute. Be brave, Arya scolded herself sternly, but she couldn’t help but hold her breath as the Capitol escort’s hand swirled around in the reaping bowl. In slow motion, Arya watched the escort select a slip of paper.“Sansa Stark!”Arya’s heart completely stopped beating.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow & Arya Stark
Comments: 48
Kudos: 264





	1. The Reaping

The male tribute was selected first. A big, eighteen year old boy named Gendry, he took his place on the stage stoically. Arya knew him vaguely. It was said he was Robert Baratheon’s secret son, and while no one had ever said anything to her, Arya knew her father sent him money every month. Despite the cold weather, Gendry’s arms were bare, showing off his rippling muscles. If the boy was afraid, there was no sign of it on his face, if anything he seemed almost bored. Arya already knew he would be a favorite with the oddsmakers.

Next, the female tribute. _Be brave_ , Arya scolded herself sternly, but she couldn’t help but hold her breath as the Capitol escort’s hand swirled around in the reaping bowl. In slow motion, Arya watched the escort select a slip of paper.

“ _Sansa Stark_!”

Arya’s heart completely stopped beating. It’s not possible, she thought wildly. Robb had been reaped just three years ago, how could one family be so unlucky? This wasn’t supposed to happen, her father was the Mayor, the Capitol was supposed to protect their family…

In the crowd, Arya spotted Sansa. She had frozen in place, her face as white as the summer snow that was drifting down lazily. Jeyne was clinging to her, her loud sobs the only sound in the silence that had fallen.

On the stage, her mother had fallen to her knees. Her father was staring blankly into the distance, his expression unfocused. What was he seeing as he stared at the crowd? Robb’s reaping? Or her Aunt Lyanna’s, twenty years ago? She had been sixteen, one year younger than Sansa, and seven months pregnant. The Capitol had brought back a baby boy, but Lyanna had died.

She thought of Sansa, singing to herself as she braided her hair. She thought of her mother, and how she hadn’t left her room for three months after Robb died.

Arya began pushing her way through the crowd. “I volunteer! _I volunteer as tribute_!”

“Arya, no!” Someone was calling Arya’s name but the noise in her ears was too loud for her to make it out clearly. Sansa, maybe. Or Jon. Arya’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t thought of Jon all this time. He would’ve lost his mother to the games, then his best friend, and now her. She forced the thought from her mind.

When Arya made it to the stage, Sansa was waiting for her. She grabbed her arm hard, nails digging in, and forced Arya to look her in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Arya. They called my name, it’s meant to be me…” Sansa’s voice broke on the last word. She sounded small and weak and scared. Suddenly, she looked much younger than her seventeen years.

“Let go of me,” Arya told her. Her voice came out colder than she intended. When Sansa wouldn’t let go, she pushed past her. From the corner of her eye she saw Jeyne taking her aside and whispering in her ear. As she walked past her parents, her mother reached for her. Arya ducked her grasping hands and went to stand as far away from her parents as the stage would allow. For a second it looked like Catelyn might follow, but before she could, her father took her aside and began speaking to her. That was good, Arya didn’t know how to face her mother right now.

The Capitol escort was eyeing her with greedy delight. “What an exciting turn of events!” he exclaimed. “What’s your name, darling?”

Arya turned toward the audience. Everything looked hazy and she hoped her eyes weren’t watering. “Arya,” she said, and she felt proud when her voice came out loud and clear. “Arya Stark.”

“Arya! The younger sister of our dearly departed Robb. Such a fearless young girl to be volunteering for your sister, and your _older_ sister, too, if I’m correct! How old are you, Arya, love?”

Arya’s hands curled into fists at the mention of her brother but when she replied, her voice was flat. “I’m fourteen.” The crowd broke out in whispers. She could feel Gendry staring at her. Arya was all too aware that only one fourteen year old had ever won the games.

There was a commotion at the side of the stage. Arya didn’t need to look to see who it was. Jon, she thought, her heart sinking. He was struggling with several Peacekeepers. She stared straight ahead resolutely, knowing that if she turned to look, the sight of him would drive her to tears. Still, she could hear him shouting. “You can’t do this! Arya! Let me through! Uncle! _Arya_!”

Uncle Benjen peeled himself away from where he had been standing at the edge of the crowd. He nodded at father. “Continue with the ceremony, I’ll handle this.” He and several Peacekeepers led Jon away.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The anthem played, followed by a broadcast of a speech by President Aerys. Arya tried not to look at her mother. Finally, it came to an end and she and Gendry were whisked away to the Justice Building. Despite the fact that she was almost certainly going to die in the next few days, having to face her family was almost the part that Arya dreaded the most.

Sansa was first. She was shaking, and her eyes had turned red from crying, but she still looked as beautiful as ever. Her red hair, neatly tied up with a white ribbon, didn’t have a single strand out of place. As soon as she was within reach, Sansa pulled her sister into a tight hug. Arya couldn’t remember the last time her sister had embraced her like that.

Arya tried to pay attention as her sister talked, but it was hard to think straight. Her mind kept going blank, and the next thing she knew Sansa was talking about something completely different. Arya started when Sansa pressed something into her hand. “What’s this?” she asked.

“My sewing needle,” Sansa said. “I thought you could use it as your token.”

“A needle?” Arya questioned, puzzled. “That could be used as a weapon, they’ll never let me take it into the arena.”

“I think they will. It’s so small and I’ve had it for years. It’s gone completely dull.” Arya inspected the needle in her hand. It really _was_ small, not even the length of her pinky, and when Arya tested the tip against her index finger, it barely indented her skin. “I know you’ve never been a fan of sewing but this has always been something that comforted me and gave me good luck. I didn’t have it with me the day that Robb… I don’t know. It’s probably useless. I just—”

Arya cut her off before she could continue babbling. “Thank you, Sansa. Really. I’ll wear it.”

Sansa beamed at her. “Oh, that’s great! Here, give it to me...” Sansa pulled the white ribbon from her hair, her red locks falling in elegant waves around her face. Arya watched as she laced the ribbon through the hole at the end of the needle. Arya turned away and stared at the wall as Sansa tied the makeshift necklace around her neck. “You’ll want to replace the ribbon with something sturdier when you get to the Capitol, Arya. This will work for now, though.”

“There,” Sansa said when she finished. She turned Arya around, inspecting her up and down. “Oh, Arya. Your hair’s a mess.” Sansa began combing her fingers through Arya’s messy updo. After a few moments, Arya batted her hands away. Sansa stepped back, expression troubled, and for a moment Arya felt like she was about to say something, but at that moment a Peacekeeper stuck their head through the door. “Time’s up!”

Sansa looked as if she might start crying again. Arya really hoped she wouldn't. She was pulled into another hug. “Jon wants to see you alone first, but everyone else will be here after him. Be brave, Arya. I love you.” Before Arya had time to react, the Peacekeeper was taking her away.

The day had barely started and Arya already felt overwhelmed and emotionally drained. The prospect of seeing the rest of her family made her want to be sick. She needed a minute to recover from the intensity of what was happening but before she could catch her breath, Jon had entered the room.

“Little sister,” Jon said, and despite her exhaustion, Arya couldn’t help but smile. She and Jon weren’t siblings, not _truly_ , but they had been raised together since birth. To her relief, Jon didn’t look upset anymore, just sad and tired. He ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. “Now, why did you have to do that?”

“I had to,” Arya frowned. “You know Sansa. She would never have made it.”

“And who says _you_ will? Sansa is three years older than you, and more capable than you think.”

“I’ll be fine. I know what to do. Find a weapon. Stick people with the pointy end.” Arya didn’t feel as confident as she sounded, but she didn’t want Jon to know that. “If Sansa is so capable, then she can take of everyone until I get back.”

Jon sighed. “Arya…” He looked around furtively before leaning in close. Arya felt his breath warm her cheek. “Just hang on for as long as you can. We'll find a way to help you.”

For some reason, that made Arya mad. All her anger, her fear, her resentment, came bubbling to the surface in a rush. She had volunteered for Sansa, hadn’t she? Sacrificing her life for someone who had never even said she’d loved her before today. Now, Jon was treating her like she was some dumb kid, who needed to be lied to about what was going to happen. How could _he_ help her? Arya understood perfectly well what was about to happen! She was fourteen, not a baby like Rickon! Rickon hadn’t understood what was happening to Robb even as they watched it unfold. For months afterward, he had asked where Robb was, when he was coming home…

Arya sprang to her feet. “I have to go,” she said abruptly. Shouts rang out after her as she took off but Arya ignored them. She knew she would regret this later but still she kept running. Out of the room, the Justice Building, and all the way to where the train that would take her to the Capitol waited. Arya had always been a fast runner. Once she got up to full speed, no one could catch her. By the time she reached the train she was out of breath, but at least no one had followed her.

Gendry was already waiting in the train when she got there, and so was fat, old Robert Baratheon, District 12’s mentor. He hadn’t been at the ceremony this morning but at least he had made it to the train, Arya thought bitterly. Robert was actually the same age as her father, but it was hard to believe it. He was passed out drunk on one of the seats, snoring loudly.

The train was huge, filled with row after row of empty rooms that could easily fit hundreds, though the only people who ever used it were the tributes and their mentors. Arya found a random room and hid inside. People came to her door, calling her name, begging, cajoling, then yelling. “Go away!” she shouted back at them. Finally they did and Arya felt the train smoothly come to a start. Alone at last, Arya fell into a deep sleep.


	2. The Tributes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly exposition, but I feel like it's still fun to see how the different characters fit into the THG world. Please enjoy!

By the time she woke, dusk had fallen. Arya laid awake for several minutes, staring out the window at the setting sun as she tried to wrap her mind around the events of the day. She felt sick to her stomach, but she forced herself to get up and go to dinner anyways. She didn’t want to miss the televised rebroadcast of the reapings.

Robert Baratheon and Gendry were already eating, both seated at opposite ends of the table. Arya wondered if they knew about the rumors of Gendry’s parentage. _They must_ , she thought. _Everyone did_. Arya selected a seat between the two of them, keeping plenty of room open on both sides.

_They both eat like slobs_ , Arya thought critically. If Sansa were here, she would turn her nose up at them. Gendry was eating with his hands, inhaling his turkey leg so quickly he probably hardly tasted anything. Sauce was dripping down Robert Baratheon’s double chin and into his immense beard.

Gendry was from the Seam, so he had probably never eaten this well before, but what was Robert’s excuse? Taking care to mind her manners, Arya sat up straighter and carefully doled out a bowlful of clam chowder soup. She ate gingerly, careful not to spill a single drop.

After the dinner had been taken away and the desert brought out, the Capitol escort, who Arya learned was named Janos Slynt, joined them to watch the reaping. Of course, the initial reaping was broadcast live to everyone in the Capitol, but there was a later show with detailed commentary by Capitol analysts and interviews with the tributes’ family.

District 1’s male tribute was Joffrey Lannister, the son of the most famous Career family in Panem. His mother, Cersei, was one half of the famous Lannister twins, who had won in consecutive years, and their father Tywin was even more legendary. Even the Imp was a Victor. Everyone had thought the dwarf was doomed, that he had been forced to volunteer, but he had proven them all wrong. Despite his family, Arya couldn’t help but admire that. Joffrey, though, seemed no different from the typical Lannister. He was handsome, Arya had to admit, but she didn’t like the arrogant expression on his face or his wormy lips. He practically strutted onto the stage to volunteer and Cersei beamed proudly as she held up her son’s hand. Arya wondered what she would think if he ended up dying. District 1’s female tribute was a tall, muscular eighteen year old named Brienne Tarth. Arya was amused to see that she was a good head taller than Joffrey, and broader as well.

District 2’s tributes were even more intimidating. The female tribute was Asha Greyjoy, another member of a famous Career family. The camera cut to recorded footage of Asha in training, wielding a pair of twin axes, and taking on two men twice her size. Arya had never seen a tribute look more confident or in her element. But the male tribute from District 2 seemed to unnerve even Asha. Ramsay Bolton, the commentators explained in hushed tones. The Boltons didn’t have the history of the Greyjoys, but made up for it with their sheer brutality. Horrible things were said of Ramsay, but nothing that could be proven. It was said he was worse than his father, a man known for skinning a man alive in his games. Even the Capitol hadn’t wanted him to win after that, but by then it was too late. Arya already didn’t like Joffrey, but Ramsay frightened her.

Next was District 4, her mother’s District, from before she had been relocated by the Capitol. Catelyn had grown to love District 12, but she still spoke fondly of playing in the oceans and rivers of her youth. District 4’s female tribute was Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrells had some Careers in their past, including Olenna, the oldest currently living victor, though not to the same extent as the Lannisters or the Greyjoys. For her part, Margaery seemed none too pleased to be reaped, though she hid it well. She seemed small for a Career, and delicate-looking, but Arya knew better than to judge a Tyrell by their cover. The male tribute was Elmar Frey, another one of old Walder’s sons or grandsons. Walder Frey was so old, it was said he remembered a time from before the Games. The enormous Frey family churned out tribute after tribute, looking for a victor, though they had yet to be successful. From the looks of young Elmar, this year would be no different for the Freys.

After the Career districts, all the Tributes started blurring together. Some were younger than Arya, most older, but all of them were children. The boy from District 11 was almost as fat as Robert, though Arya didn’t know how someone from such a poor district could have gained so much weight.

Finally, it was District 12’s turn. Arya’s heart skipped a beat, though she didn’t know why. What was done was done. Watching it happen wouldn’t change the past. Still, Arya bit her lip as the television showed Sansa’s name being called. The camera zoomed so close onto her sister’s pale face, Arya could see the light shining in her large blue eyes.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” The commentators broke into excited shouts and the camera panned quickly to Arya. It was surreal to see herself on screen. Her mother had done her hair that morning for the special occasion. Arya didn’t know how, she didn’t remember doing anything, but somehow along the way the neat updo had turned into a bird’s nest.

“Arya, _no_!” This time, Arya recognized Sansa’s voice. Her sister began pushing her way through the mass of people, trying to make her way towards Arya. The crowd parted for Sansa, but there were too many people, and Arya wasn’t looking at her. Tense music played as the camera panned from face to face rapidly. The camera showed her mother, her father, Arya, Sansa, Jon, Uncle Benjen, Bran, even little Rickon where he stood clutching Old Nan’s hand. Captions accompanied each new face, explaining to the audience who they were. It was so uncomfortable, Arya had to look away. Her eyes fell on Gendry. He looked as disgusted as Arya felt.

When Arya turned her attention back to the screen it was showing Sansa and Arya standing at the edge of the stage. To Arya’s relief, you couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could clearly see the stricken look on Sansa’s face when Arya shoved her aside. She shoved down a pang of guilt. Feeling hurt wasn’t the worst thing in the world. At least Sansa would live.

_“...will we be seeing a repeat of events? Twenty years ago Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon, the star-crossed lovers of District 12, took Panem by storm in the 54th Hunger Games, which is still considered one of the most popular in the history of the games. In a recent poll conducted by Capitol TV, over 25% of you voted for Lyanna giving birth in the arena as your favorite moment…”_

There was a thumping sound. Gendry and Arya both looked over as Robert slammed his drink on the table and stood up, teetering unsteadily on his feet. “TURN THAT GODDAMN THING OFF!” he roared.

“Robert—” Slynt began in a placating tone, and hurriedly ducked as a bowl full of chocolate pudding was hurled at his face. The room descended into chaos. China worth more than the entirety of District 12 shattered on the floor as Robert cursed and raged. Gendry and Arya exchanged a look, and quickly took their leave.

As soon as they were alone, Arya couldn’t help herself anymore. She burst into laughter. After a few moments, she heard Gendry joining her. Arya laughed and laughed, until tears streamed down her face and she began sobbing. She let it all out and the tears just came and came until she had nothing left.

When her tears finally dried she felt empty inside, but it was a good feeling, like some weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She looked up. Gendry was still standing there, looking awkward. Arya had completely forgotten he was there. “Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Gendry shrugged. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared pensively into the distance. “We don’t stand a chance. Not with that old drunk. He won’t even look at me.”

Arya looked up at him. His resemblance to a young Robert really was undeniable. That would make him Jon’s half-brother. They’d be family, sort of. “Yeah,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say.

That night, Arya couldn’t sleep. Her mind was racing. She snuck outside to watch TV, but the only channel they had was Capitol TV. They were showing family interviews again. Arya was curious about Gendry’s family but when it was his turn the interviewer only said that Gendry’s mother was dead and that there was no other family available for interviews. For a second Arya felt guilty, but then it was her turn. At the sight of her parents Arya’s stomach turned. Her father looked so tired, so beaten down. She would never see them again. Her last interaction with her mother was trying to avoid her. The last time she spoke with her father was her yelling at him to go away. Arya ran to the bathroom and threw up her entire supper.

_“...Capitol TV, here to bring you 24/7 coverage of the 74th Hunger Games, from the reaping to the Victory Tour! Quite a promising selection we have this year, Joffrey Lannister and Ramsay Bolton have emerged as early favorites, both with odds at 5-1, but the tribute we really want to keep an eye on is_ daring _young Arya Stark! With odds currently place at 25-1, this could prove to be a real steal. Don’t miss out on...”_


	3. The Remake Center

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, this is why I don't usually write multi-chapter fics. I wanted to write more in advance before I posted but I figured I'd at least get this up for those who are still interested.

A servant woke Arya at five in the morning. They had already reached the Capitol, and Arya had barely slept. Quickly, she ran a comb through her tangled hair and examined her dark circles in a mirror before giving up. There was no point. They’d be heading straight to the Remake Center anyways.

Robert was deeply hungover from the night before, but at least he was being quiet. Flashing lights and cameras greeted them at the train station. Despite the early hour, a horde had come out to see them.

They were ushered past the station and into a cab that took them to the Remake Center. Arya spent the entire time looking out the window. The Capitol was beautiful, in a strange, artificial way. The neon lights were so bright she could still see the colors when she closed her eyes.

Arya spent what felt like the whole day at the Remake Center, being made over by two ostentatiously dressed stylists. Arya felt they needed a makeover more than she did, but nevertheless she tried to be patient as the pair stripped her of her clothes, plucked hair from places Arya didn’t even know she _had_ hair, and scrubbed her skin so hard it turned pink. They measured her from head to toe, fretting over how skinny she was. When that was done, Arya was seated in front of a floor-length mirror. They trimmed and styled her hair and she was smeared with creams and powders that made her sneeze. They even drew on her face.

When they were done, Arya stared into the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. They had done something to her long face to make it look rounder. Her previously tanned skin was now as white as porcelain. There wasn’t a single mark marring her skin. The scars on her cheeks from her struggles with acne were completely gone, like they had never been there in the first place. She looked like a doll. No one would ever call this girl “Underfoot” or “Horseface.”

The girl in the mirror was undoubtedly pretty, but it wasn’t _her_. More unsettlingly, Arya realized they had made her look more like Lyanna.

“You look gorgeous, darling!” One of her stylists squealed, giving Arya a hug. “Just wait until Jaqen is done with you, no one will be able to take their eyes off you.”

“Jaqen? What about my clothes?” Arya asked, alarmed, but her stylists were already on the way out, reminding Arya to be nice to her new designer. Hurriedly, Arya hunted around the room for something to wear. Finally, she grabbed the cape she had been wearing when they cut her hair, shook it to get off the loose strands, and tossed it on.

Not a moment too soon, Arya’s new stylist entered the room. Jaqen was a tall man with handsome features and long hair which was half red and half white. His lips quirked up when he saw what she was wearing, but to Arya’s relief he didn’t ask her to take it off.

Jaqen stepped close to Arya and leaned in to examine her face. He grabbed her chin roughly, tilting it back and forth to examine her. “A girl looks different now. Like another person.” he observed, looking amused.

“My name is Arya,” Arya complained. She didn’t understand what was so funny about the situation.

“A dead girl has no name.”

“I’m _not_ dead! And I’m not going to die, either!” Arya snapped, slapping Jaqen’s hand away and glaring at him with all the rage in her body.

To her surprise, Jaqen smiled. “So. A girl still has a little fight left in her. That is good, she will need that very soon.” He held out a hand. “This man has the honor to be called Jaqen H’ghar.”

Still unsure, Arya took his hand. His grip was strong, and she was startled to realize his palms were calloused. Why would someone who lived in the Capitol have calloused hands?

Jaqen led Arya back to the full-length mirror and seated her in front of it. “Tell me, Arya Stark. What do you see?”

Arya hesitated. Normally, she wouldn’t even think about telling someone from the Capitol the truth but Jaqen was so different from what she had been expecting. Did he actually want her opinion? Finally she decided to tell him the truth. “I look pretty but… it’s not me. I know you’re supposed to make us look better, but I still want to look like myself.”

She didn’t need to say anything else because it seemed like Jaqen understood. This time, the makeover seemed to go much faster. When he was done, Arya felt like herself again. Her skin was still way too pale and smooth, but Jaqen had brought a little color back to her cheeks, and the long chin she had always been teased for was clearly visible. She really did look like herself, but better. “Thank you.” To her surprise, her gratitude was genuine.

Jaqen glanced at the clock. There were only a couple more hours until the opening ceremony. “Come, Arya Stark. It is almost time to begin.”

On the way there, Jaqen explained that to her that she and Gendry would be dressed as opposites, fire and ice. In the dressing room, a pair of servants helped her into a ridiculously elaborate white gown that took over an hour just to put on. It looked like something Sansa would probably like, but it just made Arya feel awkward. She didn’t see what it had to do with ice, either. To her relief, Jaqen shooed away the high heels the servants presented to her and brought out a pair of sensible flats.

After that, she was led to the bottom level of the Remake Center. Even with the practical shoes, Arya had to take mincing steps and hold up the hem of her dress. It was packed with mentors, stylists, servants, and tributes being helped onto horse-drawn chariots. Arya and Jaqen were two of the last to make it. Gendry was already waiting at their chariot. He looked different with his face clean and his hair slicked back. He was also wearing very little. His eyes widened when he saw her.

“What?” Arya asked defensively, coming to a stop in front of the chariot.

“Nothing,” Gendry said gruffly. He glanced at her again. “You just look different now. Like a proper little girl.”

Arya wanted to take a moment to greet the horses but the opening music was starting and the doors were sliding open. Arya climbed clumsily into the chariot, ignoring the hand Gendry held out to help her. As she took her place next to Gendry, the first pair of tributes headed out to a loud cheer from the crowd. Joffrey and Brienne were dressed as knights in elaborate suits of armor encrusted with jewels.

To distract from her nerves, and Gendry’s lack of clothes, Arya focused on the other tributes. District 2 had clearly drawn the short straw this year. They were dressed in leather leotards that left little to the imagination. Asha managed to pull it off quite well, but Ramsay just looked gross and creepy. Not even Capitol stylists had managed to make _him_ look less ugly. District 4 were dressed as sea nymphs. Margaery looked lovely with iridescent scales painted on her face and sea flowers in her hair. The fat boy from District 11 looked uncomfortable in an outfit meant for someone much smaller than him. The noise from the crowd grew louder and louder as they each headed out.

Finally, it was their turn. Jaqen pressed a button on some kind of remote in his hand. Arya felt a tickling sensation, then a cool feeling on her skin. She looked down, then gasped.

Her dress had turned to ice. It looked like she had taken a bath in a waterfall, and that the water had frozen into ice crystals that glimmered in every color of the rainbow in the flickering light. The light…

Arya looked up. Gendry was on fire. Literally. His skin was bathed in flame but when Arya held out a tentative hand to feel the fire, it didn’t burn her.

They stared at each other, awed, then burst into giggles. “You look amazing!” Arya shouted in his ear. 

When Arya finally looked away, she saw that Robert Baratheon had appeared at the side of the chariot sometime ago. He was saying something to Gendry.

“WHAT?” Arya shouted over the noise.

“HE SAYS WE SHOULD HOLD HANDS!” Gendry yelled back. Arya stared at him, unsure, but then the announcer was calling out “ _DISTRICT 12_!” and the chariot lurched to a start. Caught off balance, Arya grabbed Gendry’s hand. He held on tight to her as the chariot moved out the double doors.

When the audience saw them, for a second there was a stunned silence and for a moment Arya was afraid there had been a terrible mistake, that she was naked or Gendry’s flesh was burning off. But then they started cheering again, ten times louder than they had been previously. Despite herself, Arya found herself smiling, beaming even as she soaked up the applause. They were calling out her name, Gendry’s name, District 12.

The chariots made a loop around City Circle, stopping in front of President Aerys’ mansion. President Aerys stepped out onto the balcony, shadowed by his heir, Vice President Viserys. No one knew Aerys’ true age but he had to be over seventy, since he had been President since the first Hunger Games. He didn’t look anything like the old people Arya knew though, such as shrunken, stooped-over Old Nan. While Aerys was clearly old, there weren’t too many wrinkles on his face, and he stood tall and straight. His voice was clear as he addressed the crowd.

As President Aerys gave the usual speech about the honorable tradition of the games, Arya stared at the big screen hanging over the platform. On camera, she and Gendry complemented each other perfectly. Gendry was wreathed in flames that seemed even brighter in the deepening twilight, with fire streaming behind his shoulders that looked like wings of flame. The fire coming off him illuminated Arya perfectly, making her dress shine like it was made of diamonds. The perfect pair. Though the cameras had to show the other tributes too, it kept returning to them again and again.

When President Aerys finished his speech, another cheer went up from the crowd. People were throwing gifts at them, and a blue rose fell at Arya’s feet. The chariots made another loop around the circle before returning to the Remake Center. As soon as their chariot made it through the double doors, she and Gendry were ambushed by their teams, who were giddy with excitement. For the first time since the reaping, Arya felt like joining them in their festive mood. Other tributes were giving them dirty looks. Slynt was boasting as if the entire thing was his idea. Only Robert was silent.

For the first time, Arya realized she was still holding Gendry’s hand. Quickly, she let go. Her hand was damp with sweat and she wiped it off on her dress, which now looked like a normal, if needlessly ornate, white gown. “Thanks for holding onto me.” Arya said. “That dress was so heavy I thought I was going to fall over.”

“It’s no problem,” Gendry said. “You looked great out there.”

“It wasn’t me, it was all Jaqen’s doing. I don’t usually look like this.” Arya protested bashfully.

Gendry gave her a strange look. “That’s not true. You’re really pretty, you know that right?”

Arya was stunned into silence. Sansa had always been the pretty one, not her. When someone _did_ compliment her looks, it was always to compare her to Lyanna. She stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say, until servants came to help her down from the chariot. Arya took a moment to say thank you to the horses before leaving. She wished she had an apple to give them but then again the horses looked well-groomed and fed. The Capitol probably took better care of their pets their tributes.

That night, Arya thought about Gendry. In another situation, they could have been friends, even family. But this was the games, where love was a weakness. Robb had gotten killed for a girl, and that girl had ended up dying anyways. She couldn’t _like_ Gendry when she might have to kill him, or he her.


End file.
